


Family Don't Count For Much

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Drinking, Fighting, General Hunter self loathing, Injury warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a vamp infested town, a young hunter with a big secret ponders the life she got herself into. But when the Winchester brothers roll through town, leaving a trail of blood in their wake, she realises that her job isn't just to protect herself, but to protecet them. Will she leave her dark memories behind, or fall to the flames of her past? Also on ff.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I downed my drink as soon as it had been pushed in front of me. After all, who wouldn’t? It’d been a tough day; having to find and burn the body of a hunter who’d been stupid enough to think he could take on a Wendigo alone, and clearing out a nest of twenty shifters that had made camp a few miles east from where I was staying, all while working another case. My head was pounding and I was exhausted, so I did what any self-respecting hunter would do; hit the nearest bar. I had to be careful though, as I wasn’t exactly a typecast hunter, and not just because I was a young girl. If you think not many people considered my job the most honest work in the world, think how it would look to my family. Think how it would look to demons.  
I ordered another soda and sighed heavily, just as two large shapes temporarily blocked out the light from the lamp on my left, sat down and ordered a couple of beers. I looked over, straight into the plaid clad chest of an extremely tall, extremely gruff man. I turned my eyes to meet his. They were startlingly green, almost as if someone had enhanced them on a computer. He looked down at me, smiled briefly, before putting his head in his hands and mimicking the sigh I’d released earlier.  
“Long day?” I asked.  
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he replied. “Tough job, not enough beer.”  
I nodded, and glanced over to the other man. He was taller still, if that was even possible, but younger, with brown hair hanging round his chin and a tired look in his eyes. He threw me a respectful nod and similar smile. I couldn’t deny the resemblance between them, marking them out as relatives.  
“What’d you do? Your job, I mean,” I inquired. Immediately I saw the two men exchange a silent conversation, and I didn’t even need the lie before I knew what they did. Despite the older man passing off something about the FBI, I knew they were hunters. And they were on my patch.  
“Yeah, we heard about that family who were killed,” chips in the younger man, “so we thought-”  
“Look, I don’t need the deception. I know you’re both hunters.”  
“I-what?” Their faces had both dropped simultaneously, almost comically in fact.  
“Names?” I asked sharply. “Real ones, and I’ll know if you’re lying.”  
After another brief conversation without words, the older man turned back to me and replied.  
“Dean Winchester. And that’s my brother, Sam.”  
“Winchester…” I whispered to myself. The name was familiar to me, and I scanned my mind until I remembered. The name coming from the cracked lips of a tortured soul down in Hell. As I stood hidden in the back of the chamber, he cried out for someone to save his sons. I took that up. And I knew exactly who I was sat next to.  
“You’re John Winchester’s sons?” I asked cautiously.  
“You knew him?”  
“Yeah. I heard he died a while back, I’m sorry.”  
“You’re a little young to ever work with him, so what? He save your life or something?”  
I bite my lip and hold in my laughter; the idea of man like John Winchester saving a creature like me was unthinkable. Luckily the boys didn’t seem to notice.  
“Not exactly, no,” I replied.  
“Who are you then?” Sam asked. He’d sat up straight, hanging on to every word I was saying. Not because he was interested; it was a form of interrogation, waiting for the subject to slip up on one tiny detail. It’d been tested on me before, by higher demons to see if it would work. I’d trained myself to look out for it.  
“No one important,” I said back.  
“Well then, No one Important,” Dean returned “This job is dangerous, and we can’t be worrying about some kid, even if you did know our dad. So stay safe, and stay away. C’mon Sammy.”  
The boys downed their drinks and got up to leave. Sam shot me an apologetic smile as he turned away, which I returned.  
“Kid, you gotta go. We’re closing.” The bartender pulled me out of my thoughts, so I slipped him $20 and left. Walking back to the crappy motel I’d bedded up in, I thought on the Winchester boys. They were nice enough, and I knew Dean only didn’t want me to get hurt.  
But I didn’t care. I had a case to work, and no one, no matter how protective, was going to get in my way. I unlocked my motel room door, checked the map spread out on the table one last time, snatched my machete from under the bed and exited via a window. If those vamps were out there, then it was my job to kill them. Winchesters or no Winchesters.


	2. Chapter 2

One of the many disadvantages about being an underage hunter is no car. I had to carry all my weapons with me, and it took hours to get to any potential dens. Both of these factors don’t half slow you down.  
I crept along in the shadows of the vamps chosen den; an old hotel, once grand and high class, now fallen into disrepair. I had my machete, hunting knife, three syringes of dead man’s blood and my handgun, in case of emergencies. I also had my lock pick, as kicking down doors when a nest of vamps were on the other side was never a good idea. But as I rounded to the oaken front doors I had intended to enter by, I saw that someone didn’t share my belief, as one of the wooden panels lay splintered from its hinges. I had a hunch that they would be here, and sure enough, a sleek, black Impala was parked a few yards away.  
‘Damn Winchesters,’ I thought as I entered the hotel’s lobby. ‘A thing called stealth exists!’ I didn’t have time to verbally abuse the boys further however, as a vamp came charging round the corner, making his way to a gilded staircase in the centre of the room. I separated his head from his shoulders silently, and took his path up the stairs. It led to an open courtyard, in the middle of which was utter chaos.  
Dean’s knife had been knocked out of his hand and was right on the other side of the room, while Sam was on his back and covered in his own blood, unconscious. Three or four vamps lay headless on the floor, but at least sixteen more were circling the boys, silently gloating. In fact they were so engrossed in taunting the Winchesters, that none of them knew I was there until heads began to roll. I ducked and weaved, slicing my machete through the air, and before too long a dozen more vamps were killed. My arms were burning and my breaths short and painful. I was losing concentration, and that was my mistake.  
Before I could turn, the last and largest of the vamps had wrestled me to the floor and kicked my machete from my grip. I was flipped onto my back, looking straight up at a huge bloodsucker that put his knee on my chest and a hand round my throat.  
“Well, well, well,” he sneered, “Thought you could take us all on could you?”  
“Bite me!” I spat back, immediately regretting my choice of words.  
“Oh, it’d be my pleasure, sweetie.” His fangs slowly emerged from his gums, and as soon as they were fully exposed he plunged them into my neck. I screwed my eyes shut and let out a half scream through my teeth. But before he could drain me further, I’d yanked one of the syringes of dead man’s blood out from my belt and stabbed it into his stomach.  
“Your turn to scream, you son of a bitch,” I whispered to him, before I threw him off me, retrieved my machete and separated his head from his body. I stood, doubled over, catching my breath, before remembering that I wasn’t alone in the room.  
“We meet again, Dean,” I said breathily, with a half-smile.  
“Dude,” he returned, “You just took down all those vamps in like, two minutes! How d’ya even know they were here?”  
“I’ve been working this case for a couple days. By the time you guys had showed up, I’d identified the nest’s location.”  
“And why the hell didn’t you tell us?”  
“You didn’t ask,” I replied coldly to Dean. “Help me with your brother; we’ve gotta get him patched up.” I took Sam’s arm and heaved him up, Dean on the other side. He was about a foot taller than me and almost twice my weight, so he was hard to carry. We headed towards Dean’s car, and he pulled open the front door and sat Sam down in shotgun.  
“Look,” he said, “Thanks for your help. Seriously, we were getting our asses kicked in there. But, with all due respect… who ARE you?”  
I cleaned the blood off the blade of my machete, pushed it into my belt and checked the wound on my neck again. I didn’t know why I was stalling.  
“Name’s Wilde. Morgan Wilde.”  
“No freaking way,” Dean replied. “You mean… you’re The Morgan Wilde? Like the ‘take down six vetalas in an evening’ Morgan Wilde?”  
I smiled. “You’ve heard of me?”  
“Heard of you? You’re a damn legend!”


	3. Chapter 3

I guided Dean back to my motel room in the Impala, and by the time we’d arrived, Sam had regained consciousness.  
“You got a First Aid kit?” Dean asked, as he lowered his brother onto the couch.  
“In the bathroom, and there’s whiskey in the fridge,” I called back.  
“What are you doing with whiskey?” Sam mumbled. I raised my eyebrows at him, and a pained smile played on his lips.  
“Morgan, by the way. Wilde.”  
“No freaking way!” Sam echoing his brother perfectly was strange. They were so alike, even though I could tell they were trying to deny it.  
“That’s right, Sammy,” Dean interrupted as he brought in the First Aid kit and an already open bottle of whisky, “THE Morgan Wilde took down sixteen vamps while you were bleeding out. What d’ya think she made of that, huh?”  
“Both of you were taking a massive risk,” I answered for him, “You’d just rolled in to town, you charge into a nest of vamps unprepared, not knowing how many there would be. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s more than a little reckless.”  
“Well look who’s talking,” replied Dean, his voice suddenly cold, “You’re only a kid, and you were on your own! Before you talk to us about recklessness, take a look at yourself!”  
“Dean,” Sam winced as Dean poured the alcohol onto a long cut on his side, “She saved our lives. If she hadn’t come, we’d be vamp chow already.”  
“C’mon Sammy, she’s what, seventeen?”  
“Fifteen, actually,” I butted in, “But I know you were hunting long before that age.”  
“That’s different! We weren’t alone!”  
“No, you weren’t, but… but…”  
I couldn’t finish my sentence, as the room took an almighty lurch and my head began to spin. In all the rush to get Sam patched up, I’d forgotten about the bite on my neck. My vision swam black and white, and I felt a strong pair of arms catch me before I hit the floor.  
I didn’t know how long I blacked out for, but when I opened my eyes again, Sam had a bandage pressed to my neck and Dean was lifting me onto the bed. I tried sitting up, but my body wouldn’t respond.  
“You alright, kid?” Dean asked, his initial animosity forgotten again.  
“I’ve had worse, if that’s what you mean,” I returned.  
“It’s weird though. Seeing a hunting legend like you just... like this.”  
“C’mon, we all make mistakes, right? We’re all human.”  
“About that,” Sam said. I froze, and I felt my pulse rise quickly. Did they know? Had they thrown holy water on me when I was out?  
“We just need to check. Silver, holy water, all that.”  
I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. They didn’t know. I wanted to keep it that way.  
I reached over to the cabinet by the side of the bed, and took out a silver knife. I drew it over my forearm, my blood trickling out in a steady stream. Then I extracted my ‘holy water’. In truth, it was just distilled water, and didn’t hurt me when I poured it down my throat. Although I was a demon, I had no intention of hurting the boys, and I didn’t want them to jump to conclusions.  
They smiled, satisfied, and proceeded to do the same tests with their own knives and real holy water.  
“Right, that’s the formalities. What happens now?” I inquired.  
“We thought about that too,” Sam replied. “We know you’re a kid. But you’re the best hunter either of us has ever seen. What you did back in the vamp nest; that was unlike anything we’ve ever seen! But however good anyone is, no one should hunt alone.”  
“Where’s this going?” I asked, warily.  
“We want you to come with us. Be on our team,” answered Dean.  
I didn’t know what to say. When I’d escaped Hell, I thought it’d take decades to even find the Winchesters, and double that to get them to trust me. But now, after less than three years topside, they were offering to work with me. I was stunned. But of course, I knew the answer.  
“I’d like that. After all, you’re gonna need someone to keep you in line!”


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this is taking so long to upload! I have so much going on at school and home, and my computer’s faulty. I’ll get each chapter to you as fast as I can, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to bear with me.  
Love, Demon-of-Asgard

A couple of weeks had passed since I’d left town in the back of the Impala. It was strange. I’d never had a companion before, not even in Hell. As a lower tier demon, my uses stopped when my superiors decided they did, and I had no say over what happened to me, or when.  
After my arrival topside, I was shocked about the amount of freedom everyone took for granted. Even after over a year and a half living on Earth, I was still half expecting to wake engulfed in heat, being dragged behind one demon or another.  
But with the boys, out on the open road, I finally felt like I belonged. Before them, I’d made a life for myself alone, and, according to Sam and Dean, apparently a reputation as a legendary hunter. We traded stories over takeout food and cheap beer, as we waited for cases to come up. Of course, they never took very long to arrive.  
They told me about their parents, John and Mary, about Ellen and Jo and Bobby, and how all of them had died, fighting for a better world. After a while, Sam even opened up to me about his girlfriend Jess. With dark eyes, they talked about Ruby, the Demonic bitch who had tricked Sam into starting the Apocalypse, single handed. I had to bite my tongue; I knew Ruby, and I hated her, but I couldn’t let on that I’d even heard her name. They spoke of their friend Castiel, an Angel. I was glad that I hadn’t met him, as my cover story would be blown in an instant if he ever saw me.  
In return, I told my “life story”. How I was born to Jason and Lydia Wilde, a pair of off the radar hunters from Alaska. How I’d grown up in England, explaining my accent. How my parents had been tragically killed by werewolves on a hunt, so I had to set off alone.  
It hurt to lie to them, but I had no choice. Hunters aren’t exactly ones to forgive and forget when it comes to anything not human.  
But with the boys, I didn’t feel like I wasn’t human. They respected me, talked to me, laughed, shouted and sometimes even cried with me. They did everything humans would do. Scratch that, everything a family would do. Dean would joke about, making terrible puns and recounting in detail what he did with that sexy waitress in the back room of the bar we’d drank at that night. He’d order the largest piles of fries, greasiest burgers and strongest of beers, and a salad for his brother, that we’d eat while watching whatever was on the T.V that night. Sam would ruffle my hair every morning, making it even messier than it was already. I tried to do the same to him, but his height prevented it. He’d spot me if I was working out, and I would do the same with him. He’d make short jokes, I’d make tall jokes. We’d sit at tables looking through dusty old lore books, or browsing every crack pot website we could find when working a job. Silences were never awkward with Sam. I came to realise that while I loved the pair of them as friends, with Sam I felt like I had a family. I proper one at that, not some crappy Demon excuse for one.  
I reflected on all of it while staring up at the ceiling in my motel room. The boys were across the corridor, pretending to research but probably both asleep after a tough day. We’d been looking into a number of people, alive and dead, turning up at hospitals with unexplainable injuries; blood loss without open wounds, weirdly large bruising, poisons, memory loss and others. We didn’t know if it was Demons, Angels, Vetalas or any other evil thing. It was taxing, and we didn’t know where to turn.  
I sat up. Throwing the covers off me, I walked over to the large coffee and looked over my notes from the previous night. They were scattered everywhere, covered with question marks, crossings out, highlighting and illegible scribbles that turned out to be my rushed writing. I retrieved sheets from the floor, placed them in piles on the table and made my way over to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face and looked up into the grimy mirror. Looking at the face staring back at me, I realised that I hadn’t seen it very often at all. Its skin was pale, covered with freckles and spots. Tangled brown hair hung down either side, framing the face. Blue-grey eyes were constantly flickering around curiously. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, apart from a couple of old bruises and healing scars; no extreme, noticeable beauty, no unhealthy hollow cheeks. It was just a face. My face. I smiled, and it smiled back. I like this body, and I had made it my mission to look after it as best I could.  
I turned my eyes to the window, and the light shining through the blinds indicated that it was about six am. I quickly changed from the t shirt I slept in into my daily hunting gear; black combat trousers, a green vest top under a blue plaid shirt and my leather boots. I tied my hair back into a pony tail, and turned back to me notes on the table. And it was that second look that let everything fall into place. The psychological damage, odd markings and everything else.  
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ I thought to myself.  
I bolted out of the room and almost shoulder slammed into Sam and Dean’s room before I regained control. I knocked, and kept on knocking, until Dean opened the door and pointed a gun at my face.  
“What the hell, Morgan!” he said, his voice husky with sleep. I pushed past him, and threw my notes down onto the table, spreading each page out so that everything could be seen.  
“What are you doing, it’s six am!” Sam shouted, coming in from the bathroom. I didn’t answer, not until every page was on display, every picture, fact and note was in front of the boys.  
“Just… what?” asked D3ean again. I looked up at him, slowly, and stared at him dead in the eyes before answering.  
“Djinn.”


End file.
